


No Loneliness In Shared Secrets

by c3mf



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c3mf/pseuds/c3mf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The quiet days don't come very often, but Arthur doesn't mind when they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Loneliness In Shared Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cabin Pressure fic meme [here](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/4207.html?thread=5824623#cmt5824623).

When Arthur was little he had quiet days where he would hole himself up in the bottom of Mum’s wardrobe and hide in the dimness and the gauzy softness until the rest of the world felt as small as he was. It wasn’t that the days were particularly bad or that he felt miserable, but sometimes… Sometimes, everything was too much. 

So he hid in wardrobes and in broom closets and in tiny, secret places all over the house that he could squeeze himself into until finally he was too big to squeeze into them anymore. By then he was too old to hide, but after a while he found that if he stopped talking it was almost as good as burying himself under his duvet or hunkering down between the sofa and the big bay window in the sitting room.

When he couldn’t find anywhere big enough to retreat to, he made up a place inside his own head, wrapped himself in silence and wandered. It was lonely, but it helped.

~*~

The thing about the quiet days was that Arthur could never tell when they would happen. It was strange really, because sometimes he would wake up and it would be the rainiest, dreariest, ickiest day ever and he would feel just brilliant. Then other times he would wake up to a shining sun and a bright-blue sky, yet the heaviness would already be settled in his bones, the silence in his head would be miles deep and he knew he would stay in the emptiness with all its echoes until he crawled back into bed that night and finally fell asleep. 

Dad used to say the quiet days made him worse than deaf and dumb. All the shouting only made the silence gape wider. Mum never said anything, except to tell him once after Dad had stormed out that _everyone_ needed a bit of recharging now and again. After that, when the silence swallowed everything up, she would hand him a pen and paper and all day long they would write “secrets” to each other. 

Eventually, the emptiness faded. After that, Arthur didn’t mind the quiet. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to wander alone either. 

~*~

It was one of those odd mismatched days where the weather outside didn’t line up with the silence and the emptiness inside Arthur’s head. Those were always the strangest to reconcile with because they just didn’t make any sense at all. So he laid himself out on the threadbare sofa in the corner of the portacabin, folded his hands across this stomach and resolved not to think about it.

For a while he simply lay staring up at the ceiling and let his thoughts drift, let the emptiness fill with the sound of Mum on the phone and Skip quietly scribbling in paperwork. When Douglas came in sometime later, Arthur smiled and waved to him, then went back to picking out patterns in the ceiling tiles. 

“Morning,” Douglas said. “Something wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur twisted round to look at him and shook his head.

Skip laid aside his logbook as Douglas took his seat and glanced over. “You’re sure?” Skip hedged. “You’ve been awfully… Well, not _you_ today. So far.”

Smiling, Arthur shook his head and shrugged before flopping back down.

“This isn’t your subtle way of persuading us to play charades, is it?” Douglas asked. “Because I’m not really in the mood to try and interpret subpar miming.”

Arthur pulled a face at him and simply shook his head again.

“Right. Just making certain.”

After a few minutes, Skip went back to his paperwork. Douglas flipped through some of the glossy magazines he kept stashed in the desk, humming quietly to himself. Arthur tapped the rhythm out on his shirt buttons and tried to find faces in the water stains on the ceiling.

There was some shuffling from the desk a bit later before Skip stopped rearranging things and swiveled his chair to face the sofa. “You’re sure everything’s all right?” he pressed. “Because you haven’t said a word since you got in—not that that wasn’t a pleasant surprise, made filling in the flight plan a bit easier because you can be distracting, _really_ distracting, and I know I may have snapped at you yesterday a bit for that but…” He sighed and just barely stopped himself from scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for you to take it to heart, Arthur, honestly. I was just frustrated and I’m sorry, and I shouldn’t have done it, okay?”

Arthur blinked. He didn’t remember any of that—well, he _did_ remember Skip being a bit loud, but Skip always was after flights, usually when Douglas cut out right after post-flight landing checks. Still, even if Skip _had_ gone a bit shouty, he hadn’t said anything he didn’t normally say. There wasn’t any need for an apology. 

So Arthur smiled at Skip and shrugged to let him know it wasn’t a big deal and he wasn’t fussed… only he must not have smiled enough or shrugged with the wrong shoulder because instead of looking less worried, Skip’s expression crumpled. 

Before Skip could say anything though, the door to the office swung open and Mum came sweeping out. “The flight time’s been moved up by two hours. In return, our client is willing to pay heftily for the inconvenience, so for the sake of your health and the continued safety of your jobs, I hope the flight plan is filed because—What is the matter with you?” she asked, as soon as she saw Martin’s face.

“Actually,” Douglas supplied,” it’s more _‘what’s the matter with Arthur?’_ He’s gone mute and it’s Martin’s fault.”

Arthur rolled to his feet at the same time Skip drew an indignant breath, but Mum held up both hands to keep everyone where they were and laid stern eyes on Arthur. “Firstly, I will only ask this once so it had better be the answer you’re sticking to: Is everything all right?”

Arthur nodded emphatically.

“Good. Secondly,” she said, turning to Skip. “If nothing I’ve said over the years has got him to shut up, nothing you’ve said _ever_ will. He’s fine, he’ll speak when he wants to. He always does—whether you want him to or not. And _you_ are fine, so let’s get a move on, shall we? Before I’m tempted to start paying you, simply so I can dock your pay. Well? Chop chop. When I said _‘move on’_ the _now_ was implicit.”

Skip practically jumped out of his seat. Douglas needled him for it all the way out the door.

“Arthur,” Mum called as he followed them out. “There’s paper and pen in the galley should you feel inclined to jot down your thoughts. If you come up with anything exceedingly interesting, you might even consider passing it onto to Martin and Douglas. However, if an engine catches fire and you favor a letter slipped under the flight deck door in lieu of screaming _‘fire!’_ there will be more than training courses in Ipswich waiting for you when you get back.”

Grinning, Arthur stooped to kiss her cheek and rushed out of the portacabin. The emptiness never lasted as long as the quiet did anymore, not with so many things rushing in to fill it up.

Still, it was good to know that even if he didn’t speak, he had people around him willing to listen.


End file.
